


burning the midnight oil

by nightquills



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Exchange, AFTG Fall Exchange 2020, Allusions to PTSD, Allusions to canon-typical violence/abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Basically Andrew is an asshole, English Major Andrew Minyard, M/M, Math Major Neil Josten, Meet Ugly (?), meet-not-cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightquills/pseuds/nightquills
Summary: Neil spends a late night at the library to try and study for his Multivariable Calculus test the next day. There, he meets and is (lightly) tormented by a certain blond librarian.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 11
Kudos: 210





	burning the midnight oil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumos_max](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumos_max/gifts).



> This is a gift for [Daf](http://quidditchfrogs.tumblr.com/) for the [aftgexchange](http://aftgexchange.tumblr.com/). I tried to include a couple of your prompts—namely a different first meeting AU, a college AU, and libraries. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Lots of love to [Ominous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous/pseuds/Ominous) for encouraging me and reading this over <3

Neil knew that life wasn't fair. He was intimately acquainted with the worst sides of human nature from a young age—with the violence, the manipulation, the general cruelty. Given all that, he really shouldn't be so pissed off with the mundane inconveniences of living in on-campus housing. The dorms and his shoebox of a single may be a tad dilapidated and a bit run-down, but they're a far sight better than the shit holes he lived in with his mom while they were on the run. 

He tries to remind himself of this, but it would seem that he's grown soft in the last few years. Here he is, pacing back and forth in the narrow space between his bed and his desk, unable to concentrate and barely able to function with the bass-heavy music echoing down the hall and the headache inducing smell of cheap weed seeping under his door. 

It's a Thursday night, for fuck's sake—from all the shitty college movies he'd seen, he'd have thought that this wouldn't be an issue until tomorrow. It turns out that real life college kids are more dedicated to partying than even Hollywood can portray, however, and Thursday has apparently become the unofficial start of the weekend madness. 

Maybe Neil would be a bit more forgiving of his peers' poor life choices if he didn't have a test in his Multivariable Calculus class at 9AM the next morning. As it is, the RAs are nowhere to be found, and Neil is one more drunken yell away from barging in and breaking up the party himself. 

Neil sighs. He probably shouldn't get himself kicked out of housing in his first semester. He'd hate to hear the ribbing he'd get for that; he doesn't think Uncle Stuart would ever let him forget it. Neil resigns himself to his fate and packs his bag to head to the library, where hopefully he can get some damn peace and quiet. 

The library on campus is open nearly 24 hours—it closes from 1AM to 5AM during the week to give the custodians a chance to clean, but Neil doubts he’ll be there long enough to get kicked out. 

He leaves his room and takes the stairs down to the ground floor. He's sure that the elevator smells like a combination of cheap alcohol and far too much body spray from all the partygoers, and he'd prefer to avoid any further olfactory assault if he can. He leaves the building and takes a moment to luxuriate in the fresh breeze that greets him. 

It's just slightly biting, hinting that the true autumn weather is coming even though the days themselves are still stiflingly hot. Neil's looking forward to not drowning in his own sweat given his need for long sleeves and the lack of functioning AC across campus. 

Neil makes his way up the hill towards the library, taking care to keep out of the way of the drunken friend groups talking loudly and taking up more than their fair share of the sidewalks. 

The campus is well lit, but Neil still can't help but look over his shoulder every so often—can't help but try and keep the lights to his back so that he'll see the shadow of anyone trying to come up behind him and have that extra second of reaction time. He's gotten over some habits from his life on the run, but some are more stubborn about sticking around. Apparently, his paranoia is one of them. 

Neil makes it to the library with no issues, however, and his daily runs mean that he isn't even winded after the hike. He enters the library itself, using the revolving door just for the hell of it, and immediately moves towards the stairs leading to the upper floors. 

His path takes him past the front desk. Neil makes brief eye contact with the blond guy sitting there, whose under-eye circles are almost as impressive as his biceps and his strong "Don't talk to me" aura. 

Neil climbs his way to the third floor, and is immediately struck by how different the place is at night. It feels like a liminal place—all of the study cubicles that he has to fight to sit in during the day are empty, and the motion sensor lights for all of the shelves have gone dark. They click on one by one as Neil walks near them, flickering for a moment before brightening. 

Neil sets himself up at a cubicle whose chair rests just short of the far wall. For as creepy as the automatic lights are, at least no one will be able to sneak up on him without giving themselves away when the lights turn off again.

He figures that he might as well get right to it, and empties his backpack onto his desk. He figures that the most important thing is to prepare the reference notecard his professor lets them use, and gets to work with that. He's going to try and fit as much writing as he can on it—another thing life on the run has taught him is that it's better to be over-prepared than under. 

What this means, however, is that his equations are so damn tiny that he can barely read them. After a while, his eyes start to burn from the strain. He forces himself to finish the notecard and tuck it safely in his bag, and then pulls out some blank problem sets to practice again. By then, his eyes are killing him. He's earned a break though, hasn't he? He figures that he can justify closing his eyes for a moment—just to get rid of the burn. Just for a moment. Then he'll get back to studying. 

The next thing Neil knows, there's a loud slam next to his head and he's panicking, throwing himself from his chair and covering his head. The coverage won't stop the next bullet from hitting his head if someone is aiming there, but maybe—

“Hey,” says a voice to his side, absolutely monotone. The sheer lack of inflection is enough to grab Neil’s attention. The people that come after him tend to be anything but apathetic if they speak: if they’re not angry at his and his mother’s betrayal or taunting them with insults to try and get them to slip up, his father’s lackeys are determined because they know that any failure means they’ve outlived their usefulness. 

Neil looks up, still cradling his head protectively, to see the blond from the front desk staring down at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“We’re closing. Get the hell out of here,” he says, moving to pick something up from Neil’s desk. Neil watches his hands like a hawk, making sure that the stranger is not an active threat—his heartbeat is still hammering away in his chest, and his muscles are balanced on the trigger pin between fight and flight. 

All the blond does, however, is pick up an encyclopedia that most definitely wasn’t on Neil’s desk before. The book is thick and looks heavy. Neil stares at it, wondering for just a second how it got there, and then it clicks. 

This is what woke him up—this  _ asshole _ decided to scare Neil instead of waking him up like a normal fucking person. Neil can admit that he  _ isn’t _ normal and might have reacted defensively to being woken up in even the best of circumstances, but anything would have been better than waking up thinking he’s about to be shot. 

He hopes his glare communicates his anger as he shoves his problem sets into his bag, uncaring of whether or not they get crinkled. “Your customer service leaves a lot to be desired,” Neil fires back as he packs. 

“Feel free to call my manager, then,” the guy says, sarcastically gesturing ahead of himself for Neil to start walking. 

Neil does, purposefully leaving his chair out just to hear a put upon sigh as the blond pushes it in behind him. It’s a small bit of payback for scaring him half to death, but Neil considers it a satisfying win. 

Neil takes it a step further when he gets to the staircase. He doesn’t particularly want to put his back to this asshole, so he resolves to make the man feel as uncomfortable as he is by taking the stairs one at a time, agonizingly slowly. The man’s combat boots stomp heavily behind him with each step. 

They’re half way down the first set of stairs when the blond speaks up again. “If your intent was to make me regret scaring you,” he says, “I hope you know that you’re failing. Every step you take is justifying my actions more and more.”

Neil can’t help but snort. “It’s a good thing that you can’t scare me again, then.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I could push you down the stairs if you really want to feel something. Or we could work something else out.”

“Surprisingly enough, I’m alright. Thanks for the kind offer, though,” Neil responds. He can’t help but grip the railing more strongly with his right hand as he continues his descent, just in case. He knows just how quickly joking threats—at least, he thinks the man is joking?—can actualize. 

The rest of the walk downstairs is in silence. Neil knows he’s prone to paranoia, but he’s pretty sure he can feel a pair of eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. Sure enough, a quick glance over his shoulder is met by amber eyes looking right at him, stunning in their intensity. Neil’s cheeks burn, and his shoulders tense and raise up defensively. 

He quickens his pace, eager to get away from how on edge this stranger makes him. Neil is used to feeling nervous, but something about the man behind him makes him feel a different brand of anxiety than usual; he’s not sure what to do with the feeling. 

Neil can’t help but sigh in relief at the sight of the three custodians spread around the lobby, wiping down the chairs and tables around them. His brain is still hard-wired to seek out witnesses—his father’s men were always a little more hesitant to start things in public knowing that other people were watching, and that gave him and his mom valuable time to plan their escape. At least before their luck ran out, that is. 

He forcibly shakes his head to dispel those thoughts. Now certainly isn’t the time to fall down the rabbithole of reminiscence—he can save that for when he’s back in his room. 

Of course, Neil’s not free just yet; as he makes his way outside, he hears the doors open again. He doesn’t even need to look to know it’s the blond again. Neil determinedly turns to start the walk back to his dorm, but the other man’s voice calls out behind him.

“See you around,  _ Neil _ .” 

Neil freezes in place, trying not to panic all over again. He forces himself to turn and face the blond. “How—?”

“Calm down, little rabbit,” he says, his posture the very definition of casual and unaffected. “You wrote your name on the top of your worksheets.” 

Neil scoffs and takes a single step closer. “Wow, you’re a regular detective. Was that another attempt to scare me?”

“Not particularly, but it seems easy enough to do. You should work on that,” the bastard says, swinging his keys from a finger like he hasn’t a care in the world. The glow from the streetlight above them catches on the metal, making it glint when all else seems draped in soft shadow. The only other thing that seems to compare is the man’s blond hair, which similarly draws the light towards it. 

“Well, if we’re being candid with one another, maybe  _ you _ should work on not being such an asshole.” 

“I’ll take that under advisement,” the stranger says, his words dripping with saccharine sincerity. He turns and makes to walk in the direction of the parking lot. 

“Wait,” Neil calls out without meaning to. 

The stranger is the one to turn this time, and Neil can see that his unimpressed eyebrow raise is back again. 

Neil bites his lip. He forces his question out from where it’s caught in his throat. “What’s your name?” 

The man looks him up and down consideringly, seemingly pausing his gaze on the sleep rumpled state of Nei’s hair. “It looks like you’ve had a rough night so far,” he says. “It would be a bit of an asshole move for me to throw some new information on top of that, wouldn’t it? Maybe if you came back another time, my poor conscience would let me tell you then.” 

“Is this another ploy to scare me?” Neil asks.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” the stranger says, and walks away without a backwards glance. 

Neil watches for a moment before turning to start his walk back to his room. He tries unsuccessfully to push down the curiosity catching in his chest. 

He’s back in the library next Thursday night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all!  
> If you'd like to talk, feel free to hit me up on [ tumblr](http://nightquills.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/nightquills).


End file.
